


Here For What We Want (But Do We Know What We Need)

by sequence_fairy



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Brief insecurities, Canon-typical amount of language, Drinking, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 19:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18784678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: “God, get off me,” Shane complains, “you’re being ridiculous.”“Am I?” Ryan asks, still low, like he’s telling secrets.“You are,” Shane says, prodding Ryan in the chest again, “and you know it. So get off me, or I will bury you in the Everglades.”“You can’t–” Ryan interrupts himself with a wheezing laugh, “you can’t bury someone in the Everglades, Shane. Jeez. It’s all water.”Or: Ryan gets spectacularly drunk, Shane takes him home, one thing leads to another.





	Here For What We Want (But Do We Know What We Need)

**Author's Note:**

> *waves uncertainly* 
> 
> So, this is a thing that is happening now? I have no excuses or explanations. Please accept my humble offering of these shenanigans.

 

 

 

 

 

> _My heart pitter-patters to the broken sound_  
>  _You're the only one that can calm me down_  
>  _My head spins in circles so I'm dizzy now_  
>  _All of this time I should've figured it out_  
>  _–_ [Free Animal, Foreign Air](https://open.spotify.com/user/sequencefairy/playlist/0h2nBWxyuYBqRDqQFqaqcz?si=mMP183SJSViTp0gOz25m6w)

 

It starts out innocent. Which, frankly, was how it was supposed to end too, Shane will remind himself later, when he’s trying to piece this night back together in the quiet of the following morning. Well. Maybe Shane’s lying to himself a little bit about his intentions, and maybe Ryan was lying a little bit too, but Shane’s allowed a little dissembling, he thinks, at least to himself.

They’re all out, after work, having a couple drinks that turn into a few more and then maybe some more after that, and Shane’s doing his level best not to notice how closely Ryan’s sitting next to him. It’s not eyebrow raising, Shane knows, because he and Ryan practically live in each other’s pockets already, but still, Shane feels acutely aware of every inch of Ryan’s body that is pressed up against his own. Everyone’s crowded into a booth at the back of the bar, dim lighting doing nothing to hide the shine of Ryan’s eyes as he picks up steam during his pitch for a location for the next supernatural season.

Chatter continues around him, while Shane works his way through another beer, offering the occasional opinion on Ryan’s location pitches, but mostly observing. TJ gets the next round, flagging down a passing server, while ignoring Shane’s protest that he doesn’t need another. Beside him, Ryan is a compact furnace, and he’s still talking, now arguing with Devon about whether or not they can fit a theme park episode into the budget. Shane thinks he’s mostly just doing it to make Devon laugh into her drink, while Ryan comes up with ever more ridiculous reasons for them to do an episode at a Six Flags.

The next round of beers lands on the table. The bottles are dark green and frosty with cold. It’s a local brew that Shane has been meaning to try, made just outside the city. Shane slides the bottles across the table’s surface, using his fingers to push them into Ryan and TJ’s waiting hands. Shane tips his bottle towards Ryan without thinking. Ryan raises his, they clink necks, and Ryan catches Shane’s eye as he takes a drink. Shane lets his gaze wander rather than watch Ryan swallowing. He already knows what that looks like, and doesn’t feel the need to torture himself further.

The beer is fine, but not as good as he’d hoped, which disappoints Shane, because he’d thought this little brewery was going to finally be the one to produce something out here in this wasteland of mixed drinks and hard liquor that would rival the craft breweries back home. Shane downs his beer, because the faster he can get through it, the faster he can order another one that he actually likes.

Time skips forward, a little disjointed, then Devon’s leaving, citing a weekend trip out of the city that she doesn’t want to be hungover for. It’s just the three musketeers now. Ryan is still sitting just as close as he was, but the thrum in Shane’s veins is muted now, drowned by the growing buzz as he finishes another beer while Ryan’s laughing hard enough to shake the entire table. Shane leans back, letting Ryan and TJ’s conversation get buried under the general noise of the bar.

Shane blinks, and somehow, he’s nursing his next beer, picking at the label, while Ryan gestures to explain some point to TJ, who is giving Ryan back as good as he’s getting. Shane can feel every movement because Ryan is still plastered against him, thigh to thigh. Shane’s beer has gone warm, but he lifts the bottle to his mouth anyway, to give himself something else to focus on besides the way Ryan’s shoulder bumps into his every time Ryan laughs at something TJ’s saying across the table.

Shane takes a long pull, letting the beer sit on his tongue, feeling the carbonation pop against the roof of his mouth, before he swallows. The beer is bitter, hoppy and when it’s cold, full of bright citrus that normally makes his mouth water, but now just makes his eyes water. He sets down his bottle, and then taps the table sharply with two fingers.

“Another round?” he asks, when Ryan trails off into expectant silence. It’s a nod from Ryan and a very large yawn from TJ, who waves Shane off. Shane goes to the bar to get another beer for himself and Ryan. It maybe takes longer than it should, because Shane needs a minute, but when he gets back, it’s just Ryan left in the booth, staring down at his phone with a furrow between his eyebrows.

“Beer,” Shane says, loud enough to be heard over the music, and Ryan looks up. Ryan’s face is as unguarded as Shane ever sees it, but there’s something extra soft in the way his mouth curves into a smile.

“Thanks, man,” Ryan says, shifting down on the bench a little so Shane can slide back in beside him. It’s not until they both pick up their beers at the same time, that Shane realises that with TJ gone, he should have probably slid into that seat across from Ryan instead of back onto the bench with him. He doesn’t want to move though, and Ryan doesn’t seem to mind. They sit in companionable silence for a time, until Shane leans forward onto his forearms and looks to his left. Ryan is watching him, the fingers of one hand curled loosely around the neck of his bottle of beer. Ryan’s face is contemplative, his chin propped in his other hand.

Shane lofts one eyebrow. “What?” he asks, “have I got something on my face?”

“Nothing, I–” Ryan pauses. There’s a moment where Shane thinks there might be something wistful in Ryan’s lopsided smile, but it passes and Ryan’s grin goes wide and full of teeth. “Your face is on your face,” he says, and then flops back, cackling.

“Ryan, that’s not–that’s not even… what the fuck, dude?”

“Your face is on your face!” Ryan shouts, clearly convinced of his own hilarity.

Shane sighs. “You,” he says, jabbing Ryan in the chest with his finger, “are drunk.”

“Am not,” Ryan protests.

“Bet you couldn’t say the alphabet backwards,” Shane says, because he figures Ryan can’t say it backwards sober either, so it’ll be funny regardless.

“What’ll you give me if I do?” Ryan asks.

The way Ryan’s eyes glint is familiar. Shane knows that unsure-but-game look, and knows it means trouble. It’s the same look that Ryan gets when Shane lobs a challenge at Ryan when they’re shooting. The same one that usually ends with Ryan gibbering stupidly into the dark and Shane laughing into the collar of his shirt, trying to hold the camera rig steady while Ryan wigs the fuck out. Shane’s suddenly not sure he should push this any further.

“I’m not taking this bet, it’s too easy.” Shane takes another swallow of his beer, in order to give himself something to do other than focus on the flush riding the high edges of Ryan’s cheekbones.

“What’re the stakes?” Ryan presses, swaying forward into Shane’s space. He’s close again, close enough that Shane can smell the citrus in whatever product Ryan’s put into his hair for the night.

“You’ll lose,” Shane reminds him, sing-song and silly, “‘cause you’re drunk.”

“I won’t, ‘cause I’m not,” Ryan says. “C’mon big guy, what’ll you give me if I say the alphabet backwards right now?” As Ryan speaks, his voice drops, and he leans in, closer still. Shane backs up as much as he can without falling out of the booth.

“Personal space, much?” Shane gets a hand in between them, pushing against Ryan’s chest, but Ryan resists the shove. “God, get off me,” Shane complains, “you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Ryan asks, still low, like he’s telling secrets. His voice has gone husky around the edge, like it gets when he’s delivering a particularly salacious bit of evidence during an episode. Shane sucks in a breath, getting a nose full of the scent of Ryan’s hair product and the spicy edge of cologne or aftershave. Someone, Shane thinks, is going to see them, and they are going to get the wrong idea.

“You are,” Shane says, prodding Ryan in the chest again, “and you know it. So get off me, or I will bury you in the Everglades.”

“You can’t–” Ryan interrupts himself with a wheezing laugh, “you can’t bury someone in the Everglades, Shane. Jeez. It’s all water.”

“Fine. I’ll feed you to a goddamn gator,” Shane threatens.

“I’d like to see you try,” Ryan says, but he leans back out of Shane’s space, and picks up his bottle again, returning his attention to his beer. Shane turns his own beer around in between his hands. It’s still mostly full. Now that there’s a little distance between them, Shane can take a deep breath again. He brings his bottle to his mouth.

“I’m bigger than you,” Shane says, without thinking, after he swallows, “I could so feed you to an alligator.”

“You’re taller than me, I’ll give you that,” Ryan says, and gives Shane an appraising once-over. The hair rises on the back of Shane’s neck. It’s funny, Shane notes, that standing in the most haunted place in the continental US didn’t bug him at all, but Ryan looking at him like that, all interested and calculating, that’s what makes him squirm. Shane puts a pin in that for later, when he’s not crowded into a booth beside Ryan and five beers in.

Ryan smiles again, and sucks back the rest of his beer, letting the bottle drop with a definitive ‘ting’ against the tabletop when he’s finished. “You done?” Ryan asks. Shane nods and pushes himself out of the booth.

Once standing, it’s apparent that Ryan is exactly as drunk as Shane thought. He’s swaying slightly, leaning against Shane as they weave their way through the press of bodies towards the exit. The night air is cool, and Shane breathes deep once they get out far enough past the gaggle of smokers crowding up around the entrance. Shane stops on the sidewalk, stepping back so he can stay out of the pedestrian traffic as the LA night spins on around them.

“I’m gonna get a Lyft,” Shane says, “you wanna share? Or crash at my place?” Shane adds, getting a better look at Ryan in the hard light of the streetlight overhead. Ryan’s eyes are half-lidded, and he keeps listing to one side and then righting himself. It’s sort of like watching liquefaction in motion, Shane thinks as he reaches out to steady Ryan with a hand on his shoulder. Ryan sighs under the contact, and if Shane’s thumb sweeps along the curve of Ryan’s shoulder, neither of them make note of it.

“Your place,” Ryan says, and then he leans right into Shane, snaking his arm around Shane’s waist and pulling him close. Shane freezes, thumb hovering over the submit button on the car request. The moment hangs, until Ryan huffs out a breath against Shane’s chest, and Shane comes back to himself enough to send out the request.

They loiter on the sidewalk while they wait for their car. Shane feels a little like he and Ryan are an eddy in a vast river of nightlife. He’s officially had too many beers.

Ryan leans into him, his fingers looped through the belt loops of Shane’s pants, the warm of his palm seeping through the fabric of Shane’s shirt. Shane gives into the impulse to wrap his own arm around Ryan’s shoulders, certain that Ryan’s drunk enough that he can play it off as him needing support in the morning, if Ryan asks. If Ryan doesn’t ask, well, is anyone going to blame Shane, really? Ryan fits rather nicely beside him, and the night is cool enough that the additional body heat is welcome.

The Lyft comes, and Shane fumbles Ryan into the backseat. The ride back to Shane’s apartment is quiet. The driver seems to sense that they don’t want to chat, and Ryan lists further and further against Shane. Shane would be concerned that Ryan is passing out, but for the way the streetlights glint in Ryan’s half-open eyes. He just seems determined to discover a new state of matter – semi-solid human, bones going to liquid under the influence of probably more beers than Shane realized at the time.

“Ry–Ryan,” Shane says, when the car slows to a stop out front of his building, “we’re here.”

Ryan blinks, but doesn’t move and Shane sighs, and slides out. He’s thinking he’ll have to pull Ryan out after him, but Ryan surprises him by getting out and around the car under his own steam. The driver leaves them on the sidewalk outside of Shane’s building while Shane hunts up his keys and Ryan leans against the wall beside the door.

They climb the stairs, and then Shane lets them both into his apartment. He’s turning to slide the chain across and turn the deadbolt when Ryan crowds him back against his door. Shane’s back hits the door, rattling in it in it’s frame, and he’s bringing his hands up to put some distance between them, because what is Ryan even doing? And then Ryan’s looking up at him, eyes blown wide and dark, and Shane’s resolve crumbles.

Shane meets Ryan in the middle.

Ryan’s hands land on Shane’s hips, and he steps forward with intent, pressing his thigh up and in, slotting it between Shane’s. Ryan’s mouth is hungry. Shane lets him lead. The warmth bleeding from Ryan’s hands seems to pool at the base of Shane’s spine. The kiss deepens, Ryan sweeping his tongue along Shane’s lips, and then in when Shane gives himself permission to get with the program and lets Ryan in. Shane swallows the low sound Ryan makes in the back of his throat, and finally figures out what to do with his own hands instead of leaving them, palm down, against the door.

Ryan’s breathing stutters when Shane lifts one hand, letting it trail up the side of Ryan’s arm until he can cup the side of Ryan’s neck, and then slide his palm back, fingers diving into the hair at the base of Ryan’s skull. Shane holds tight, tilting Ryan’s head to slot their mouths together better. Ryan makes a punched out sound that sends a pulse of heat straight through Shane. Shane’s hips stutter forward.

Ryan tugs Shane’s shirt out of his pants, then his hands skim up and under, until he can slot his fingers into the spaces between Shane’s ribs. Ryan relinquishes Shane’s mouth, but only so he can mouth down the line of Shane’s jaw and find the soft spot under the hinge. Shane lets his head tip back, staring at the ceiling above them, one hand still curled in Ryan’s hair, the other at the small of Ryan’s back.

“Been wanting to do this all night,” Ryan husks, biting at the lobe of Shane’s ear. Ryan’s voice goes straight to Shane’s dick, already half-mast and well on its way to being something of an issue Shane will have to acknowledge at some point in the near future. Instead, Shane sucks in a breath, and he can’t fight the way his hips roll forward into the hard line of Ryan’s thigh between his own, and then he does it again, on purpose, just to hear the breathy whine of Ryan’s voice, and feel the bite of Ryan’s teeth.

Then Ryan’s mouthing along Shane’s jaw, and one of his palms is coming up to hold the side of Shane’s face. For a moment, they just share breath, Shane’s eyes opening halfway, watching Ryan’s face. Ryan breathes out, shaky. All of a sudden, Shane remembers how much Ryan’s had to drink and it feels like someone’s poured ice water through his veins.

Shane breaks the kiss, opens his eyes properly and really looks at Ryan. Ryan’s flushed, colour riding high on his cheeks, eyes heated and dark, mouth parted slightly. He looks drunk, still, though Shane can’t be sure how much of that is from the impromptu makeout session against his apartment door and how much of that is leftover from their drinks earlier.

Shane lets Ryan go, draws his hand carefully along the cut of Ryan’s jaw, the pads of his fingers feeling the roughness of regrowth. Shane lets his hand fall, coming to rest on Ryan’s forearm.

“Ry,” Shane starts, surprised at how gravely his voice is. “Ryan, what are you..?” Shane’s not one to question someone else’s desires, but he needs to know this isn’t just the booze talking. Because sure, Shane’s kind of wondered what this might be like, he’s not immune to Ryan’s charms and anyway, he’s comfortable enough with himself to know that had it previously been a known option, he probably would have been game to try it out, but Ryan’s drunk. Shane’s buzzed maybe, but Ryan was drunk enough to need a hand out of the bar, and Shane doesn’t know if he can wake up tomorrow morning to face Ryan’s regret.

Ryan blinks. A furrow appears between his brows. Inexplicably, Shane wants to smooth it away with his thumb. The corners of Ryan’s mouth turn down, and then he’s looking back up at Shane, dark eyes framed by impossible eyelashes. He’s so close, still, that Shane can see the whiskey highlights and the bourbon shadows in Ryan’s eyes. “I thought,” Ryan begins, then he steps back, “maybe I was wrong.”

“No, Ryan, I–” Shane’s voice cracks. “You’re not, I’m not saying that I don’t want–”

“What are you saying then?” Ryan interrupts.

Shane’s still pressed against the door, even though Ryan has stepped back, so he steps forward, toes off his shoes and moves around Ryan and further into the apartment. Ryan follows Shane into the living room, light spilling into the dark room from the kitchen. For a moment, they stand awkwardly in front of each other, until Shane shakes himself and sinks down onto the couch and drops his head into his hands. Shane exhales, long and slow, in an effort to control the fluttering thing in his chest.

“You’re drunk, Ryan,” Shane says, lifting his head when Ryan sits down beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body.

“Not that drunk,” Ryan says.

“Still,” Shane argues, “I don’t want to take advantage–”

Ryan reaches out, his fingers landing against the side of Shane’s jaw. “I know what I want.” Ryan’s leaning in, body angled towards Shane’s and Shane finds himself mirroring Ryan, turning his torso, his own hands coming to rest on Ryan’s thighs. There’s only the barest space between them, every breath is shared. Shane’s stomach flips, nerves swelling into his throat. He swallows. Ryan’s gaze drops to Shane’s mouth, and then back up to meet Shane’s eyes.

“Ryan,” Shane breathes, every other word meaningless. Ryan’s hand slides along Shane’s jaw, curling around his ear and then Ryan’s fingers are in Shane’s hair. Ryan closes his fist, tugging on Shane’s hair and Shane can’t fight the tremor that goes through him. Heat pools again, molten, in his belly.

“Can I kiss you again?” Ryan’s voice has gone to smoke and embers.

Shane can taste each of Ryan’s words, and in lieu of answering, he closes the distance between them. Ryan’s hand flexes in Shane’s hair, and the tingle in Shane’s scalp starts a chain reaction with the heat in his belly. It fizzes down every nerve, all the way out to Shane’s fingertips, where they flex and dig into Ryan’s thighs. Ryan shifts, never lifting his mouth, and Shane moves with him.

It’s impressions after that - the slope of Ryan’s shoulder in Shane’s hand, the late night roughness of Ryan’s jaw against Shane’s cheek, the taste of the skin at the base of Ryan’s throat, the way his whole body rocks when Shane returns Ryan’s move from earlier, biting down on Ryan’s ear. Ryan’s hand fists in Shane’s hair, tugging, so that Shane will kiss him on the mouth again.

Shane drags his hands down Ryan’s back, and Ryan rolls his hips down as Shane’s palms press into the curve at the base of Ryan’s spine. Shane meets Ryan’s grind with one of his own, and the kiss breaks in a shared groan. Ryan looks down at him, hair mussed from where Shane’s had his hands all through it, and the slow bloom of his smile is a filthy promise. Ryan grinds down again, and Shane tips his head back, choking off the noise building in the back of his throat. Ryan hums, mouth against the soft spot on the underside of Shane’s jaw. The vibrations make Shane’s skin tingle.

Ryan’s hands skim down Shane’s sides, and then up under the untucked hem of Shane’s shirt. Shane hisses at the contact. Ryan’s never the warm one between them, but tonight he’s running hot and each time he skims the backs of his knuckles against Shane’s lower belly, the heat of his skin is like a firebrand.

Ryan lifts his head. “You alright there, big guy?” he asks, and that should not sound like dirty talk, Shane knows, but the timbre of Ryan’s voice makes him ache. He’s so hard in his jeans that it feels like he might burst if Ryan so much as touches him, and he can feel that Ryan’s in the same kind of way. “Shane?” Ryan asks again when Shane doesn’t answer him.

“I’m good,” Shane manages, voice strangled because Ryan chooses that moment to shift and roll their hips together again.

“Only ‘good’?” Ryan teases, rolling his hips again deliberately. Shane gasps, cutting it off by biting his lip. “Anything I could do to make it better?”

“I could think of a few things,” Shane huffs, and Ryan grins.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, one thumb drawing abstract patterns on Shane’s low belly, the other hand pressed flat against the couch cushion beside Shane’s head, holding Ryan up off Shane. “Wanna tell me about them?”

“For starters,” Shane says, dropping his hands further, so he can grab at the swell of Ryan’s ass, “you could lose some of these clothes.” Shane noses at the column of Ryan’s throat, tongue darting out to taste Ryan’s skin. Ryan shudders.

“So could you,” Ryan says, agreeable, into the join of Shane’s shoulder and neck. Neither of them make a move towards getting up.

“I can’t with you lying on me,” Shane says, shifting under Ryan’s weight..

“Oh no?” Ryan says, “you sure about that? Pretty sure your arms are like noodles–”

“I’ll show you noodles.” Shane fits his hands against Ryan’s sides, plants his feet and heaves Ryan off him, toppling the other man onto the floor beside the couch. Shane rolls as well, letting himself drop off the couch, catching himself on his hands and knees, Ryan on his back beneath him. Ryan blinks, looking mildly stunned at the reversal of their positions.

It’s like a punch to the solar plexus, but the good kind, Shane thinks, looking down at Ryan like this. He’s mussed, and his lips are kiss-bitten, his shirt wrinkly from where Shane’s hands have bunched up the fabric and where it got rucked up between their bodies. Ryan’s watching him, banked heat in his eyes. “Not so noodle-y after all, Bergera,” Shane says with what he knows is a toothy grin, and then rocks back onto his knees, straddling Ryan’s thighs.

“N–no,” Ryan says, still a little wide-eyed, “I guess not.”

“Liked that, did you?” Shane guesses, and Ryan nods. Shane files that away for later. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll get a chance to do this again, and maybe Ryan’ll let him push him around a little. Now though, he gets up, and then reaches down for Ryan. “C’mon,” Shane says, in a burst of courage, “bed’s way comfier than the floor.”

Ryan lets Shane help him up off the floor and doesn’t seem to mind at all when Shane doesn’t let go of his hand.

Crossing the threshold of his bedroom with Ryan in tow feels a little like a test to Shane. He suppresses the absurd urge to look back at Ryan, to make sure he’s following Shane in, and to make sure he’s not having second thoughts.

There’s a soft thump as Ryan pushes the door shut behind him, and that’s when Shane turns around, letting Ryan’s hand go as he does.

“You have to shut it all the way,” Shane says, “otherwise Obi will get in.” Ryan shifts back, leaning his weight on the door until it closes properly. Shane takes a deep breath, settling himself into his body fully, before he reaches for Ryan.

Ryan steps into the circle of Shane’s arms, face upturned, and Shane can’t resist the offering. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Shane worries about the haphazardly tossed laundry on the chair in the corner, and the shoes spilling out of his closet and the clutter on his nightstand, but then Ryan nips at his lower lip and Shane stops worrying.

Ryan lets Shane walk him back, til the backs of his knees hit the top of his bed and then he lets Shane push him down. The kiss breaks, but instead of pulling away, Ryan presses their foreheads together, eyes still closed. They breathe together, and Shane watches Ryan. He’s trembling, but there’s confidence in the way his hands slide along the outside of Shane’s arms, so Shane tips forward, catches Ryan in another kiss and then reaches around and pulls on Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan doesn’t help, but doesn’t hinder, and soon enough, he’s looking up at Shane, all that skin on display and Shane wants, so badly it burns through him, to put his hands on it. Ryan has other plans though, and while Shane is distracted, Ryan’s hands get busy with Shane’s belt buckle.

“Ry–” Shane says, cutting himself off when Ryan tugs his fly down and the back of his hand drags along Shane’s length. “Fuck,” Shane mutters, emphatically, and Ryan grins up at him. There’s an unasked question in Ryan’s eyes and Shane’s dick twitches as Ryan rubs the knuckles of one hand along it. Anticipation snap-sparks in Shane’s veins, but Ryan plays it slow, just the drag of his knuckles over the fabric of Shane’s boxers.

“So,” Ryan says, nonchalant, like his mouth isn’t less than a foot from Shane’s cock and like he can’t feel Shane trembling under his touch. “About your clothes.”

“What–what about my clothes?” Shane asks, proud of himself for how normal his voice sounds even as a flush rises on the back of his neck. Shane looks down, catching the moment Ryan turns his hand over and palms Shane with purpose and intent. Shane’s breath catches, all the blood rushes out of his head and he sways. Here’s a sight, he thinks to himself, remember it.

Remember the way Ryan’s eyes have gone heavy-lidded, remember the way his mouth parts, the way Ryan’s tongue darts out to lick his own lips, like he can’t wait to get a taste, remember it, Shane orders himself, because what if it never happens again? Something must change in the way Shane holds himself because at that thought, Ryan looks up.

“I think you should take off your shirt,” Ryan suggests, and Shane complies with all the alacrity he can muster. He unbuttons, fingers fumbling, while Ryan slides his palm along Shane’s length, down until he can cup Shane’s balls, and then back up again. Shane feels wound tighter than a drum, but he doesn’t take his eyes off what Ryan’s doing, even as he gets the last of his buttons undone, and then shrugs the shirt off.

Shane likes to think he’s not any more self-conscious than the general population, but there’s something about standing in your bedroom, between someone else’s legs, with their hand on your dick that makes a man feel a little vulnerable. It doesn’t last long, because Ryan’s eyes drop, and Shane feels their slow wander down his torso like a touch. It feels good to be looked at like this, Shane thinks, like he’s wanted. It always has.

“Oh,” Ryan says, soft and maybe a little surprised. “You’re–there’s–hunh.”

The vulnerability returns. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Shane doesn’t mean for his question to end in quite the tone that it does, but now Ryan’s looking at him like a puzzle he’s not quite sure he’s figured out, and his hand on Shane’s dick has stopped moving.

“I guess I just,” Ryan pauses, licks his lips again, and looks back up at Shane, who is standing with his arms hanging down at his sides. Anxiety is working itself up in the back of Shane’s brain, all the reasons why they shouldn’t be doing this screaming in Shane’s ears. The moment of silence between them hangs. Looking Ryan in the eye is overwhelming so Shane drops his gaze, but then he can’t look at where Ryan’s hand is still holding his dick, which is, admittedly, wilting, in the face of the burrowing anxiety in Shane’s brain.

“Look–”

“Shane, I–”

They both speak at the same time. Ryan lets his hand fall, and Shane steps back.

“If you’re not–” Shane starts, but Ryan shakes his head and rolls his shoulders. He opens his mouth, catches Shane’s gaze and his mouth clicks closed. Shane shifts, restless, under the scrutiny of Ryan’s gaze. “You’re being weird,” Shane says, half-teasing, trying to break the moment into something they might salvage instead of something that might ruin them both.

“Sorry,” Ryan says immediately, then, “I just–dude, you know you’re like, not half-bad looking, right? Like, why do you bury all this,” Ryan gestures at Shane, “under so many layers? What’re you trying to hide?”

“Not half-bad looking?” Shane says, all his earlier self-doubt vanished in the face of the opportunity to razz Ryan about anything.

Ryan flushes. “You know what I mean,” he says, and reaches out for Shane again, grabbing for his hand. Shane lets him have it, and lets Ryan pull him in close again.

“No, I don’t think I do,” Shane says, just be a shit, laughter in the edges of his voice. He can feel the smile threatening in the corners of his mouth. “Do tell, Ryan Bergara, what does ‘not half-bad looking’ mean?”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan retorts, laughing himself now, and tugs Shane down beside him on the bed. Ryan’s shoulder bumps against Shane’s, skin on skin, and Shane feels Ryan stiffen beside him. In the next breath though, Ryan’s shifting, turning so he can face Shane again, drawing one leg up onto the bed, and sitting, one leg folded between them, the other hanging off the bed. Shane finds himself unable to look away from the vee of Ryan’s legs.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Shane offers, looking up as he says it. Ryan flushes again, and his gaze drops. Shane might even, were he forced to recount this incident, say that Ryan seemed a bit bashful in the face of such mild praise. They sit in the quiet for a moment, but instead of anxious silence, it is contemplative, punctuated by the sound of Ryan’s breathing. Ryan’s still holding Shane’s hand.

“Do you–I mean, I could–” Ryan stops himself from babbling, which Shane would admire in any other situation, because the man can babble, but tonight, there’s nothing Shane wants more than to know what is going on inside Ryan’s twisty brain.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Shane says, and Ryan pulls his free hand back, curling it into a fist. “Hey!” Shane says, throwing up their joined hands between them, “I’m just teasing.” Ryan narrows his eyes, but relents. “Look,” Shane says, “it’s alright, I’m not… there’s no pressure here, Ryan, no expectations, okay? We can do, or not do, whatever.” Shane gestures with his free hand, a complex movement of fingers. “It’s up to you, I’m easy.” This last is an opening Shane knows from experience that Ryan can’t resist, but instead of immediately bantering back to him, Ryan looks down at their joined hands instead.

“Shane,” Ryan says, to their hands, resting on Ryan’s calf. Shane can hear the plea in it, and the thought of Ryan needing him, for something like this, makes Shane’s heart turn over in his chest. “I–God, I don’t–” Ryan looks up at him. Shane can read the helpless wanting on Ryan’s face, can feel it in the tremor that shivers through their joined hands.

“Okay,” Shane says, “okay.” He lets himself lean in. He hears the hitch in Ryan’s breath, and then he’s closing the distance and cutting off whatever Ryan was going to say next. Ryan huffs into the kiss, but his hands come up, clutching at Shane’s sides, fingers digging into the soft spot under Shane’s ribs. They’re tentative but determined, and Shane allows himself to sink into the feeling, just a little.

They’re crossing lines here, never mind the ones they’d already crossed on Shane’s couch earlier. Ryan’s always been firmly in the ‘hands off’ section of Shane’s brain, relegated to hazy dreams and fantasies he refuses to look at head on in the shower, but now he’s here, warm and licking his way into Shane’s mouth like he knows what he wants. Even if Shane can still taste the hint of Ryan’s last beer on his tongue, he knows Ryan well enough to know that he does nothing halfway. Ryan’s always been the braver of them, Shane knows, even if he always makes Shane go in first when they arrive at whatever haunted locale. He’s not surprised, really, that Ryan was brave enough to push for this, even if he’s a little–okay, a lot–surprised that Ryan’s decided he wants this with him.

Shane’s not a catch, he knows. He’s soft around the middle, long in the arm, gangly in the legs, and admittedly, a little twisty in the head. Why anyone like Ryan would want to involve themselves with that combination of attributes, Shane doesn’t know. Ryan’s so easy-going, so willing to believe the best in everyone he meets, so distractingly and devastatingly open, to everything. The light Ryan gives off, Shane thinks, while Ryan’s shoulders twitch under the sweep of Shane’s hands, is blinding. Sometimes, it hurts to look at him, even though all Shane wants to do is stare, open-mouthed and stupid, at the way Ryan’s mouth widens in a grin, at the way he throws his whole body into every laugh.

He wants this, Shane thinks, not sure whether he’s trying to convince himself of Ryan’s desire or confirm his own.

Ryan shifts, leaning in closer, one hand coming up to rest on the side of Shane’s neck. The bed creaks beneath them, and Shane does his best to shake off the lingering worries crowding up the labyrinth in his mind, willing himself to sink a little more firmly into the moment. If this is the only chance he gets, Shane decides, he’ll make the best of it, and he reaches out.

Shane wraps a hand around Ryan’s hip, the warmth of Ryan’s skin bleeding into his palm. Ryan shudders under Shane’s touch, and oh, that’ll do it, won’t it? Shane grins into their kiss, a breathless huff of something close to laughter spills from Ryan’s mouth. Ryan shifts, like he might pull away, but Shane’s grip tightens, and he tilts his head, slotting their mouths more firmly together. Shane gets his other hand up, and into the hair at the base of Ryan’s skull, tugs firmly, and swallows the whimper that rises, along with a another shudder, through Ryan’s frame.

Eventually, somehow, Shane’s not entirely sure, and doesn’t really have the wherewithal to figure it out, Ryan’s got him on his back, looking down at him, eyes all dark and lovely and heated. “Shane,” Ryan breathes, curling a hand around Shane’s jaw, thumb smoothing across Shane’s cheek.

“That’s my name,” Shane quips, unable to stop himself. “Don’t wear it out.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the way his mouth curves up at the edges. “Idiot,” Ryan says, soft and fond.

“Your idiot,” Shane agrees, letting his lips quirk up in practiced smugness even though the bottom drops out of his stomach at the words. How he can feel like he’s teetering on a precipice when he’s lying down in the centre of his bed, he doesn’t know, but he does.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, and there’s something in the husk of that single word that sends a bolt of heat through Shane. “Mine,” Ryan says, dipping down until he can press their foreheads together. Shane inhales, and lifts a hand, traces his shaking fingers along the line of Ryan’s jaw, never breaking Ryan’s gaze.

They breathe each other’s air for a collection of heartbeats, until Ryan blinks. Shane lifts his head, only the barest movement is required to put him reaching distance again, and the kiss sings through him. Chest to chest now, the contact feels like a feedback loop as Ryan leans into the kiss, his knees tightening around Shane’s hips. Ryan’s hand sweeps down Shane’s flank, fingers teasing under the waist of Shane’s jeans, and Shane’s hips stutter up, seeking friction.

“Can I?” Ryan asks, breaking the kiss, but only pulling away far enough to form the words against Shane’s lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane says, voice pitched low. “You too,” he insists, pushing up to follow Ryan as he draws away, chasing his mouth. Shane presses in kiss after kiss, keeping Ryan’s mouth busy while he fumbles with the catch on Ryan’s jeans. Ryan’s already got a hand inside Shane’s boxers, and the warmth of it around him makes Shane gasp.

“ _Christ_ , Ryan,” Shane groans, as Ryan’s hand circles him. There’s no hesitation in the long slide of Ryan’s palm against Shane’s cock, and Shane sinks his teeth into his own lip, choking off the whine that rises in the back of his throat. Shane’s eyes flutter closed as Ryan drags his hand down, and then back up again. “Fuck,” Shane mutters, emphatically, letting his head fall to rest his forehead against Ryan’s shoulder.

“You gotta catch up,” Ryan husks, something teasing in his voice. Shane looks up, catching Ryan’s eyes.

“Oh, you– _ah_ –you think so?” Shane’s retort is ruined by the way his spine arches when Ryan’s grip tightens. Shane redoubles his efforts regardless and is rewarded by Ryan’s sharp intake of breath when he gets his own hand around Ryan.

It’s a little ridiculous, Shane thinks, that he’s got this whole bed, and they could be using it, but instead, they’re pressed up against one edge, neither of them actually naked, hands in each other’s pants. “This is a little–” Shane cuts himself off as Ryan reaches over him with one hand.

“A little what?” Ryan asks, pushing himself up with a hand planted beside Shane’s shoulder, and reaching for Shane’s nightstand like he knows what he’s going to find in there. He’s probably right, Shane thinks, but he reaches back anyway, his longer reach letting him grab the drawer pull just before Ryan’s hand lands on it.

“Let me,” Shane says, into Ryan’s shoulder. He punctuates the request with a gentle bite, Ryan squirming away from the pressure of Shane’s teeth. Shane digs in the drawer without looking, fingers locating what he’s after with a minimum of fumbling. He draws back, grins and pushes Ryan over. Ryan goes, easy like breathing, onto his back, shimmying his pants and boxers off, leaving him bare to Shane’s gaze.

Shane’s first impression is just the expanse of skin now at his reach. Where Shane is all sharp edges, Ryan is firm lines, softened in the streetlight spilling in around the slatted blinds in Shane’s bedroom. His second impression, on the heels of the first, is that Ryan is naked, sprawled on his back, his own hand around himself, and he’s watching Shane with dark eyes, his mouth curved up in a smile so wicked lovely, Shane will probably never be rid of it’s afterimage.

“You–” Shane stops himself, unable to stop looking at all of what’s on offer. His eyes skip over the bunch of Ryan’s bicep, and follow down the line of Ryan’s arm, mouth watering as he watches Ryan slide in and out of his own hand. Shane’s gaze sweeps back up to Ryan’s face. “Ryan,” Shane says, twisting so he can spread himself out on his side beside Ryan, “did you–you did, didn’t you? This was–you little shit!”

“Gonna do something about it?” Ryan asks, one eyebrow raised, still fucking his own fist slowly. Moisture beads at the tip of Ryan’s dick until he sweeps a thumb over it to drag it down along the length of him. A fine tremor radiates from Ryan into Shane, like Ryan’s holding himself back from something.

“What was your plan here, bud?” Shane asks, propping himself up on one elbow, palm under his ear. Shane presses the heel of his other hand against his own dick, hissing against the feel of it. “Were you gonna just get drunk, and throw yourself at me and see what happened?”

“No,” Ryan’s reply is immediate, but ruined by how thready his voice is. He clears his throat. “No, I mean, I didn’t mean to get that drunk, that wasn’t the plan. I just– “ Ryan shrugs, helpless.

“It’s okay,” Shane says. Truth be told, he’s a little flattered. To think that Ryan had maybe planned this, to know that he wasn’t alone in feeling this way, that Ryan was maybe just as affected as Shane… it’s heady. “Next time,” Shane suggests, reaching for Ryan and skimming his palm down Ryan’s torso, “you could just ask.”

Ryan arches under Shane’s touch, but Shane keeps his eyes locked on Ryan’s face. He watches, fascinated, as Ryan’s eyes flutter shut, as Ryan’s teeth sink into his own lip, smothering the sound trying to escape. “Shane,” Ryan’s voice kicks up at the end, like he’s asking instead of telling.

“Yes, Ryan?” Shane asks, leaning in close.

“You gotta–” Ryan cuts himself off with a hiss, as Shane’s wandering hand, slipping over all that skin, reaches its destination. Ryan’s hand falls away, to fist in the sheets beside his hip if the rustle of fabric is any indication. The warm weight of Ryan in his hand, hard as steel and soft as velvet, makes Shane’s stomach swoop, and his heartbeat trip over itself. Ryan’s eyes slam shut, and his head tips back, mouth dropping open, nothing coming out but panting breaths.

“Oh Ryan,” Shane says, surprised at how reverent his voice is. Ryan doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps trying to pinch off the desperate noises at the edge of every one of his breaths, and Shane grins, changing his grip and watching the whole length of Ryan’s body shiver.

Pushing himself up, Shane snags the bottle he pulled out of his drawer earlier, pops the cap and lets go of Ryan briefly, to coat his hand. Ryan makes a disappointed sound that turns into a low moan when Shane gets his hand back around him. Ryan’s hips buck, like he can’t help it, and Shane smothers his grin in the swell of Ryan’s shoulder.

“‘M not gonna–” Ryan says, voice breaking. “ _Shane_ ,” Ryan groans, and then he’s moving, rolling over onto his side so he can face Shane. Miraculously, the shift doesn’t dislodge Shane’s hand, and now, rolled into each other, Shane can feel the way Ryan’s whole body rocks each time Shane’s palm drags up and down on Ryan’s cock. “That’s– _ah_ –fuck, Sha–mmph!” Ryan’s teeth find the curve of Shane’s shoulder.

Shane should have gotten out of his boxers a hundred years ago, so now they are just in the way, but Shane is nothing if not determined, so he shimmies and uses his other hand to help and gets them down far enough that he can gather himself into the hand already holding Ryan, and that first slide, both of them encased in his hand, makes Ryan bite him again. The bite jolts right through Shane, urging his hand faster. They rock into each other, hips rolling in sync.

“You look– _Christ_ , Ryan–” Shane croons, right into Ryan’s ear, “so good, baby, so fucking good. Come on.” Shane stops thinking about what he’s saying, tightens his grip and lets his mouth run.

“Shane–just– _God_ –” Ryan’s whole body tightens. He gasps, throwing his head back. Ryan’s come spills over Shane’s hand, hot and slick.

There’s nothing for it after that, Shane’s never going to last, not with Ryan still writhing against him, mouth slanted against his in a kiss that’s maybe more sharing panting breaths, and his hand wrapped tight around Shane’s arm, in a grip that Shane wants to feel around his hips, his thighs, the base of his throat–

It’s that thought, of Ryan over him, palm pressed into the base of his throat, air a precious thing he is unable to get enough of, that sends Shane hurtling over the edge. He spills over their hands, muffling the groan that might’ve been Ryan’s name, into Ryan’s skin.

For a long moment, neither of them move. Aftershocks ripple through both of them, then the come down shivers through Ryan and into Shane. Shane wonders if maybe he needs to examine some new and surprising things about himself, but decides to file that examination away for a time when Ryan is not naked next to him in bed, and there isn’t come drying to tacky on his hand.

On that note, Shane wrinkles his nose, opening his fist, and flexing his fingers. Ryan rolls away, onto his back, and throws an arm over his face. There’s a faint flush that spreads across Ryan’s chest, and Shane is gratified to know that Ryan blushes all the way down, not just across the apples of his cheeks.

“Well,” Shane says, still hoarse, “that … hunh.” Shane swallows, shivers and closes his eyes before pushing himself to sitting.

“You okay there, Madej?” Ryan asks, and Shane nods, feeling his shoulders hitch and tighten. Ryan’s hand lands in the space between Shane’s shoulder blades.

“I’m gonna–” Shane gestures vaguely in the direction of the bedroom door, and when Ryan doesn’t say anything, Shane pushes himself to his feet and uses his clean hand to pull open the door.

Obi darts out of his way, and down the hall while Shane wanders into his bathroom. Once there, he takes a minute to breathe, standing naked in front of his sink. The ceramic under his palms is cold at first, shocking in the contrast. Shane blinks under the harsh lights, and leans in to peer at himself in the spotty mirror. He’s all the same, a little flushed maybe, colour standing out because he’s being washed pale by the glare in this little, white room. Shane’s not sure what he thought might change, but he thinks, something ought to have, now that they’ve done that.

Maybe he’ll ask Ryan to use his teeth for real next time, Shane thinks, surprising himself. Will there be a next time? It’ll be up to Ryan, Shane decides, willing his tripping heartbeat back down to a reasonable pace. No pressure, like he said earlier, and like he meant then.

Shane takes a deep breath, shakes his head and turns away from himself, to pull back the shower curtain and snag the washcloth hanging on the shower hose. Shane makes quick work of wetting it through, wiping himself down, washing his hands and then rinsing the cloth.

When he gets back from the bathroom, Obi’s curled up at the foot of the bed and Ryan’s still lying on his back, head resting in his palm.

“Boo,” Shane says, and drops the washcloth on Ryan’s belly. Ryan startles, inhaling sharply. Shane grins.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says, without heat and overfond. A different kind of heat suffuses through Shane, and he busies himself with digging through his drawers to find something Ryan can wear while also hunting up pajamas for himself. Behind him, he can hear Ryan cleaning up, and then shifting. Ryan pushes himself up to sitting as Shane turns around, a pair of soft sweats in his hands.

“Here,” Shane says, handing them to Ryan. Ryan will swim in them, but it’s what Shane has. Shane half-expects Ryan to say something about his scarecrow limbs, but Ryan just takes the pants, pushes himself to his feet and then sets about stepping into them and tugging them up over his hips. Shane’s previous estimation proves both true and false. They’re too long, by far, but since Ryan is stockier than Shane, wider through the hips and broader in the thighs, the material clings in a way that those particular pants have never done when Shane’s been wearing them.

Shane realises, as he’s lifting his hands from the waistband of his own pajamas, that he’s been a little presumptuous about Ryan even wanting to stay. “You don’t have to stay–”

Ryan stiffens and turns from where he’d been reaching for Obi, so he can look at Shane. His eyes have gone wide, and there’s something naked in his gaze. Shane wants to take back the words.

“Do you–d’you want me to go?” Ryan’s voice seems suddenly smaller, and his shoulders curl inwards, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.

 _Stay_ , Shane thinks, desperately, unable to get the words out of the tangle his tongue has become in his mouth. _I want you to stay_. Shane swallows, feels the race of his heartbeat in his chest, and the rush of blood in his ears. “Stay,” he says, finally, and then, because he has to make sure Ryan understands, “please. I’m sorry, I–just wanted to make sure you wanted to stay, I didn’t mean to make you think you had to leave. I… shit, Ryan, I–” Shane scrubs a hand through his hair, then drops it to his side, shrugging, helpless.

“You got a toothbrush I can use?” Ryan asks, and just like that, so easily that Shane didn’t even realise it was happening, they’re perfectly at ease again. Ryan’s smile is a slow bloom, and Shane feels himself basking in the glow of it, unable to help himself.

“Yeah,” Shane answers, “cupboard under the sink, should be one there.”

Ryan disappears, but not before stepping forward, a determined look on his face, and leaning up to peck Shane on the cheek. Shane’s hand comes up automatically to the place where Ryan’s lips were and he sits down on the end of the bed. His other hand automatically finds Obi, fingers searching out the softest parts of the cat’s fur. Obi purrs, contentedly while Shane pets him.

Ryan returns, some minutes later, to find Shane still sitting on the end of the bed, Obi melted across the sheets, completely undone by the petting he’s getting. Shane barely registers Ryan’s presence.

“Hey, big guy,” Ryan says, and Shane startles. “You okay there?”

“Ah,” Shane hedges, blinking at Ryan. “Yeah? I think so. Sorry, just got–you know how it is.”

“Bedtime,” Ryan says, gently, but he punctuates with a not-so-gentle prod at Shane’s chest.

“Shoulda known you were a cuddler,” Shane says, but he lets himself fall back, and then waits for Ryan to crawl up the bed, and pull him in. Ryan obliges, slinging an arm around Shane’s waist and splaying his palm across the centre of his chest. Obi gets up, pads to the head of the bed, and pushes his forehead into Shane’s chin. Shane scratches the cat around the ears and then Obi flops down, curling up and leaving Shane’s nose pressed into Obi’s fur.

Ryan’s a warm weight behind him, Obi’s curled up and purring, and Shane feels like maybe it’s okay that he wanted this, that Ryan wanted it, that they wanted it together, and that they did it. Ryan makes a sleepy noise into the nape of Shane’s neck, so Shane tangles their feet together.

Maybe tonight was never supposed to turn out like this, Shane thinks, at the edge of sleep, but he’s pretty glad that it did.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and chat with me about my fic on [tumblr](http://sequencefairy.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/warpspeed_chic).


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